


Something My Soul Needs

by doriangay



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, Prison, Slow Burn, Smut, Very Oscar Wildeesque, but nobody has a crisis, like persecution, no gay angst, yes they fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-01 12:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doriangay/pseuds/doriangay
Summary: In the year 1852, Grantaire is an antisocial cynic, living in a barely-furnished room in London. After a chance encounter with an old friend one morning he gets thrown into the exciting world of the ABC, and falls in love with their fervent leader, Enjolras. Living in a time when homosexuality was illegal, Enjolras wants to be the head of the fight for equal rights, but Grantaire questions what Enjolras cares about more: himself, or the fight?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Keaton Henson's Flesh and Bone, which reminds me of the plot of this. Hope you enjoy! Hope you enjoy symbolism, Victorian aesthetics and everyone being gay!

February 1852

 

Jehan and Grantaire always seemed to meet just when they needed each other most, bonded in a way that some people might call unnatural. On this particularly cold February morning, Grantaire was, characteristically, lost. He squinted through the windows of houses as he passed, watching as families sat huddled up next to their fireplaces, hiding from the thick layer of snow that had coated London the night before. Sighing, Grantaire continued down the street, his feet leaving shallow footprints in the tightly packed snow, his fingers plunged deep into his pockets as he prayed that they wouldn’t freeze off completely. 

Coincidentally, and unknown to Grantaire, Jean ‘Jehan’ Prouvaire had been gazing out of his bedroom window all morning, staring at the falling snowflakes and thinking of what they could represent in his next poem. He’d only managed to scribble down a few pretty phrases when he saw his friend ambling down the street, looking ready to keel over at any moment. Momentarily forgetting about the cold outside, he flung open his window and cried out, “Grantaire! Is that you? Get in here right now, or you’ll catch your death!”

Grantaire turned and his face broke out into a huge grin, he waved madly at Jehan and raced towards his door, almost slipping in his eagerness. Jehan reached the door at the same time Grantaire did, and opened it, embracing his cold friend.

“Come in, I’ll get you something warm to drink and  _ please _ hang that coat up.” Jehan sniffed, shivering and rubbing his now-soaked sleeves. He turned on his heel and waved at Grantaire to follow him, leading him into the lounge, and throwing himself down in a chair. “God, your lips are  _ blue,  _ R. What were you thinking, walking around in the cold like that?”

Smiling, and only slightly shaking, Grantaire fell into a chair opposite Jehan and leant back, his hands resting behind his head, “I ran out of paint.”

“Paint?”

“All day I’ve had this image of red roses lying in the snow, but I don’t have any red paint left, not after the incident last week. And so,” he gestured with his fingers, which were still slightly frozen, “I went out to get some.” He reached into his pockets and revealed a couple of tubes of red oil paints, cheap, the type whose pigment would quickly fade over time.

Jehan shook his head, laughing loudly at his friend. At that moment, another man entered the room. He was slightly shorter than Jehan, and much less noticeable; he had shortly cropped brown hair and sunken eyes that darted nervously around the room. He was holding a teatray and shifting from one foot to the other, looking at anything but Grantaire.

“Feuilly!” Jehan beamed, jumping up and taking the tray from Feuilly’s hands, “You’re a darling, you didn’t have to you know.”

“I heard you say you were going to make hot drinks and since I was already in the kitchen I thought…” Feuilly trailed off, a smile playing on his lips as he gazed at Jehan. His eyes, for the first time, flickered towards Grantaire and the smile slid from his face, “Who’s your friend?”

Jehan wrapped an arm around Feuilly’s shoulders, the tray balanced precariously in his free hand, “This is Grantaire, Feuilly. He’s a very old friend, we’re practically brothers.” 

Feuilly began to smile again, his tense frame relaxing slightly. Grantaire returned his smile, encouragingly. “Hello Feuilly,” he said with as much gentleness as he could muster through his chattering teeth, “I won’t be here long, don’t worry. I just need to get the cold out of my system and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Don’t be stupid, Grantaire.” Jehan said firmly, pulling away from Feuilly and setting the teatray down, handing Grantaire a steaming cup, “you can’t walk all the way back home, it’s miles! I half wonder how you got here in the first place.”

“I didn’t know how far I’d gone - everything looks the same in the snow!”

Jehan sighed, trying not to laugh at his friend, “You’ll get sick if you go back out there, I won’t let you, Grantaire. Listen, I’m having some friends over soon for a meeting of sorts, I think you’ll like them. This is the first time I’ve seen you for  _ months _ , you need to socialise more.” He said sternly, his voice rising as he lectured his friend.

“Fine.” Grantaire rolled his eyes, “I’ll stay because I don’t want to freeze to death today, but if you’re having a ‘meeting’, then I think I’ll need something a little stronger than tea.”

“Absolutely not.” Jehan said, “it’s either tea or coffee.”

Grantaire was just about to open his mouth and argue when there was a loud knock at the door. Feuilly, who had been forgotten, almost jumped out of his skin, and Jehan clapped his hands together excitedly before rushing to answer the door.

 

 

“Grantaire,” he cried, as he came back into the room a few minutes later, “I’d like you to meet Courfeyrac and Combeferre!” He waved each man into the room as he introduced them, dusting the snow off their shoulders surreptitiously.

Courfeyrac was still helping Combeferre untangle himself from his long scarf as they entered the room, laughing at him as they stumbled around, almost knocking over a table. Combeferre reached into one of his pockets and produced a pair of spectacles, wrinkling his nose and blinking when he put them on. Courfeyrac giggled at this, before turning to Grantaire and sticking out a hand eagerly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Grantaire!” He said, “I feel like I recognise your face, have we met before?”

“I’m not sure if I-”

“Don’t mind him,” Combeferre interrupted, “he’s excited because we haven’t had a meeting for a while.”

Grantaire was struck by a sudden fear - he had no idea exactly what was about to happen. He knew Jehan had a large number of eccentric friends, but he didn’t know there were meetings, were they revolutionaries, perhaps? It wouldn’t be the first time Jehan had been in a group that had called for some kind of change. It never ended well.

 

Over the next hour, seven more people showed up: Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta all arrived together, Joly having to be sat next to the fire as his cane had frozen itself to his hand; then Bahorel arrived, and upset several tables trying to seat himself; Marius and Cosette arrived together, followed shortly by a shivering Eponine, who ended up curling up in Cosette’s lap for warmth.

Everyone got along well, wary of Grantaire at first, but easily relaxing when they realised he wasn’t a threat to their little group. It became apparent that he and Courfeyrac  _ had  _ met before, at The Musain, several years ago. It wasn’t the sort of club you usually admitted to going to, not with all the prying ears there were nowadays.

“Where’s Enjolras?” Marius eventually piped up, around ten minutes after arriving, his pink ears were slowly returning to their normal colour but he was still shivering a little bit.

Jehan pulled out a watch and stared at it for a few seconds, before walking to the window to peer out. “He’s never usually late, maybe he’s having trouble in the snow.”

“I hope he’s alright.” Musichetta hummed from where she was sat, feeding Joly soup from beside the fireplace.

 

They waited for another ten minutes, then another, and before they knew it, a whole hour had passed. Jehan was stood up, entertaining everyone with a wildly embellished story when there was a knock at the door. Everyone jumped and looked at each other wide-eyed, Jehan and Courfeyrac simultaneously ran for the door, whilst Eponine woke up from what appeared to be a deep sleep, sitting bold upright on Cosette’s lap.

Grantaire could hear Jehan and Courfeyrac’s jubilant cries from the hallway, mixed with a calm, cool voice. The three men entered the sitting room once again: Jehan, Courfeyrac and Enjolras. Enjolras. Grantaire had never seen anyone so beautiful; his cheeks and lips were flushed red from the cold, and his golden-blond hair was tousled. He elegantly strode into the room, winning everyone’s attention instantly with a kind of subtle power, despite his petite stature. His smile, though friendly, was sharp, just like everything else about him.

“Apologies for the delay,” he said, striding to the center of the room, “if you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing.” His quip was met with giggles, and Grantaire felt the room visibly relax. “Courfeyrac and Combeferre have undoubtedly briefed you on today’s meeting, and for the upcoming preparations this month.” 

“We need to do something about The Musain,” Courfeyrac piped up helpfully, “More and more people are infiltrating it, and using information they gather there for blackmail. I know several people here have been a victim of this.” Joly nodded sadly, whilst Feuilly put his cup down in his saucer a little harder than was necessary.

“My plan,” Enjolras continued, “is to weed them out. Beat them at their own game, so to speak. Once we have a list of who’s who, we have a proper base for our meetings, a place we can network and begin putting big-picture plans into action.”

He said this, Grantaire thought, with the gusto that deserved some kind of applause, he was hanging off Enjolras’ every word. The rest of the group, however, simply smiled and nodded. Jehan picked up a piece of paper and started making notes, whilst Bahorel spilled tea down himself.

They ran through a few more things, most of them confusing and incomprehensible to Grantaire without context. They discussed rights, protests and justice.

“It’s getting late,” Feuilly stated nervously, during a long silence. It was true. Grantaire hadn’t noticed, but the tiny sliver of sunlight that had managed to penetrate the clouds that day was almost completely gone.

“Yes.” Enjolras said, “we can’t have anyone getting sick, who’s hosting next week?”

Combeferre pulled out a list and consulted it before calling out, “Marius and Cosette.” Marius clapped his hands together and Cosette smiled sweetly.

“Then that concludes today’s meeting.” Enjolras said, flashing his sharp, intoxicating smile once again. Grantaire felt as though he was falling into a very deep hole, “have a safe journey home, everyone.” 

And with that, he flopped down on the rug, right next to Grantaire’s feet.

 

After Jehan had managed to usher his excited friends from his house, Grantaire found himself alone with Enjolras. They sat in chairs opposite each other, Enjolras gravely making notes in a little book, nibbling the end of his pen, whilst Grantaire tried not to look at him too much, lest he go blind.

“This is your first meeting?” Enjolras asked, breaking the silence.

“I guess, I’m mostly here because Jehan wouldn’t let me walk home in the snow.”

“Jehan is a good man.” Enjolras said absentmindedly, “you’re lucky to have him as a friend.”

“Yeah.”

The pair sat in silence for a little while longer, before Enjolras asked, “Will you come to the next meeting? I can ask Jehan to pass the information on to you. We need all the help we can get.”

“I’m not actually sure I know what you do here.”

“We fight.”

“Fight?”

“For justice. For people who don’t have a voice. There are so many people who have to hide because of who they are in this country. We want to help them.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, intimidated by Enjolras’ beauty, but not so much so that he wasn’t going to voice his opinion, “Why? Why care about other people? Chances are you’ll never see any gratitude from them.”

It was obvious that he’d said the wrong thing. Enjolras sat up in his chair, bringing himself to his full height (which, whilst not being much, was still very intimidating), and glowering at Grantaire. “Why? Because there are people _suffering!_ How can you live with that knowledge, Grantaire? That someone might by crying, feeling lost and alone and having _nobody_ help them? How can you sit by and watch people starve because they were born poor, be treated lesser because of their skin, be sent to prison because they love a man-” he paused for breath, his cheeks flushed with emotion. Grantaire couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit ashamed, but his stubborn nature caused him to push against Enjolras’ tirade.

“I’ve never helped anyone in my life, and I think I’m doing just fine.” He said, folding his arms, “as long as  _ I’m  _ not the one being sent to prison, then I don’t have anything to worry about. And if that does happen and I do get prosecuted for sodomy, or I run out of money and starve to death, I don’t expect anyone to care about me.”

“Good.” Enjolras said, icily, “with that attitude, nobody will.”

“Nobody has cared about my wellbeing for twenty years, I don’t think my ‘attitude’ is going to change anything.” Grantaire snapped. And with that, he walked out of the sitting room, grabbed his coat, and headed back out into the cold, white street.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eventful evening for Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? actually writing fanfic and not abandoning it after the first chapter? thats 20gayteen's influence

The instant he got outside Grantaire knew he’d made a mistake. Not only had he been unnecessarily rude to an extremely beautiful man, but he was now out of the relative warmth and safety of Jehan’s house and, once again, out on the cold street. He walked and walked for what felt like hours, his feet and fingers getting colder and colder. When he finally reached his street, his legs almost gave out with relief and he broke into a slow jog, his own breath clouding his vision as it came out in short bursts. But, when he was only fifty meters or so away from his home, what he saw made him stop short. There was a man, familiar to Grantaire by now: Javert the debt collector.

Javert had been hounding him for years. It wasn’t that Grantaire was intentionally behind on rent, nor was it his fault that he had to borrow money to survive on more than one occasion. But in Javert’s eyes, Grantaire was the criminal to end all criminals, he hunted him ruthlessly; but Grantaire was better at evading than Javert was at hunting.

So, despite being cold, tired and hungry, Grantaire turned on his heel and ran in the other direction. He cursed himself for being hot headed enough to storm out of Jehan’s place, and for being too cowardly to go back. Without a place to stay, he knew it was unlikely he’d survive the night; he’d freeze to death before dawn broke. So, he did the only logical thing to do in that situation. He went drinking.

Not his usual place, of course, Javert knew that one. But the one he’d ducked into was cosy; people milled around him, drinking and laughing and arguing as though the world was ending tomorrow. It felt like home to Grantaire.

He felt eyes, as he often did, following him as he went up to the bar as he ordered a drink. The looking, he supposed, was because of the confidence he emitted, not because of his looks. God knows he wasn’t what anyone would call handsome, but he carried himself as though he was. Adonis in Dionysus’ body. 

Just as he was about to hand over the coins for his drink, a man cut in and paid for him, his face pale and grave. Though he was was cast in shadow, Grantaire knew exactly who he was.

“Montparnasse.”

“Grand R.” Montparnasse smiled slightly, “It’s a pleasure, as usual.”

They drank together in silence for a little, Montparnasse eyeing Grantaire up all the while. It was just beginning to grow uncomfortable when Grantaire asked, bitterly, “So this is where you pick people up now, then?”

“Mm.”

Grantaire finished his drink, and called the bartender for another one; Montparnasse looked up, as though he was going to insist on paying for this one as well but, upon seeing Grantaire’s face, thought better of it.

“You can fuck off now.” He took a large swig of his new drink, “take a hint.”

“I need to talk to you about something.” Urgency clouded Montparnasse’s voice.

Slamming his drink down on the bar, Grantaire gave a humourless laugh. “I’m not lending you any more money, Monty.” 

“R, I’m in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Grantaire was intrigued.

“Someone has something of mine something I- something I’d rather not have seen by the world. I thought I could trust him, R, I did! But he’s saying he’ll go to the police if I don’t pay and you  _ know  _ how my finances are and-”

“Is this the man you were seeing behind my back at the same time as me, or the one you left me for?” 

A slight look of remorse came over Montparnasse’s face before giving way to indignation and anger, “Neither, if you must know.”

“Then I don’t see how this has anything to do with me,” Grantaire stood up, walking to the other side of the bar, addressing the barman, “do you have anything stronger here?” 

  
  


Two hours later, drunk enough to have forgotten all about Montparnasse, Grantaire was thrown from the pub, never to be allowed back. Unfazed, he wandered the streets for a while, the alcohol warming him enough that he didn’t notice how heavily the snow was falling. The cold cleared his mind a little,but his eyes were still unseeing,. Inevitably, he ran straight into someone coming the other way and fell onto the icy floor.

“Jesus, watch it!” The person cried, Grantaire, even in his drunken state recognising the voice, groaned and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, “I didn’t see you there.”

Through the snow a gloved hand appeared in front of Grantaire; he took it, and allowed himself to be hauled up off the ground. He was now face to face with Enjolras, who was scowling slightly as snowflakes gathered in his hair, his hat having been knocked off in the collision. 

“You’re blind drunk.” Enjolras said flatly, stooping down to pick up his hat and brushing it off , “what are you doing back outside, you do realise your lips are blue?”

Grantaire swayed slightly, suddenly aware of how cold he was, “I just felt like a little air, it’s good for the circulation, you know.”

Raising an eyebrow, Enjolras raised himself up on tiptoes to peer behind Grantaire. Seeing nothing, he looked Grantaire in the face with a look of sympathy that cause Grantaire to recoil slightly, “Do you have someplace to stay tonight?”

“Yes- yes I’m just on my way to…” Grantaire gestured aimlessly.

“Follow me.” Enjolras strode past Grantaire and put his hands in his pockets. He was maddeningly nonchalant, with a spring in his step that rooted Grantaire to where he was stood.

“I meant what I said, you know.” He called at Enjolras’ retreating figure, “you won’t gain anything from helping me.”

A single, bright glare from Enjolras, who had spun around, told Grantaire all he needed to know. He had no choice but to follow him.

 

Enjolras’ house was nothing like how he’d imagined it. Grantaire stood gaping in the huge doorway as his companion shook the snow from his coat and took off his hat. The hallway was huge and lined with large, imposing paintings. Grantaire had already seen that the house was several stories high, and, if the hallway was anything to go by, was decked from top to bottom with lavish furniture. It was surprising, and a little ironic, that Enjolras could hold so much wealth and yet preach about inequality the way he did. 

One picture in particular drew Grantaire’s eye. A man and a woman, sat several inches apart; the man was blond, like Enjolras, and had the glimmer of a smile playing on his lips, whilst the woman had soft, chestnut hair and was all but glaring from where she was sat. 

“My parents.” Enjolras said shortly before walking down the hall and off into an adjoining room. “Follow me I’ll show you your bed.”

Now pretty much sober, Grantaire had half a mind to turn back around and go home, away from the danger of Enjolras’ volatile beauty. But, too cold to argue and too tired to make a fuss, he followed the man into the next room.

It was, as Grantaire had guessed, was beautifully furnished. Heavy mahogany bookcases were groaning with heavy leather-bound books, above the empty fireplace was a beautiful painting of a train on a bridge, with swirling reds and blues surrounding it. Enjolras didn’t take in the beauty, and was moving briskly, tidying away some papers and books he’d left on a desk.

“It’s just up one flight of stairs, first door on the left.” Enjolras said, not looking up at Grantaire. There’s an adjoining water closet, sober up then go to bed. Don’t vomit on anything.”

Silently, Grantaire walked past Enjolras and followed his directions. There was no use arguing now, besides, it would be nice to sleep in a fancy bed for the night.

 

His bedroom wasn’t large, but it wasn’t small either. There was another bookcase in here, but the books it held were less grand than the ones Grantaire had seen in the previous room, they were worn - most of them looked like they’d been discarded by people who’d stayed in the room before him. Hanging on the wall was a framed painting of a man, who was gazing into the middle distance, smiling absently.

Almost too tired to take all this in, Grantaire crashed onto the bed, not even pausing to remove his coat. In his drunken and frozen state he drifted off into a deep, fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this just reveals how much i want a nice man to take me into his house so we can fall in love ,, also sorry montparnasse stans for making him a bit of a dick its called projecting onto fictional characters and its TOTALLY healthy 
> 
> if you care about enjoltaire or like other gay stuff message me @ robbieross on tumblr ily


End file.
